A Little Bit of Nothing
by AnnHoj
Summary: She didn't care that the boy was completely incapable of loving. Love wasn't exactly the thing for which she was searching at the moment. She wasn’t in love with him; it scared her too much. All she wanted was to be happy for a few short moments. DM/PP


So, I've never written anything about either Pansy or Draco before, but I just felt compelled to write this little piece. I know it might be a little different than the other stuff out there. It might feel a little out of character, but I wanted to show a different, less stereotypical Slytherin view of the two-some. I also feel a little weird about posting it because...well, I don't really want to use the word "dirty" per se, but it's a little more "grown up" than my usual Ron/Hermione stuff. Then again, it kind of has to be with Draco and Pansy involved. I apologize for slightly inaccuracies with the sixth book, but I consider it artistic license.  
Oh whatevs...just read it and tell me what you think. Por favor?

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She knew very well that it all meant nothing. Everything that had taken place in the past or all that was certain to continue in the future was completely meaningless at its core. It had no legitimate feeling attached to it, because, after all, it took two corresponding opinions to make it something real, common ground to make a casual occurrence into something official, or at least that's what she thought. But she knew that was all that would ever be. She knew that the kid was incapable of feeling anything of great importance for anyone other than himself. Everyone knew that; it was the common consensus of anyone who had ever met him. He was clever in all the worst ways and down right evil in the opinions of some. Lately he had been more concerned with his orders from the Dark Lord than anything or anyone else. Other than the obviously false stories he'd feed to anxious open ears, he refrained from discussing it with anyone, except when it came to her, then he choose to spill everything in her confidence. Simply because it meant nothing did not mean that she wanted it any less.

She didn't care that everything she cherished and dreamt about so often held little weight in his conscious thoughts. She didn't care that the blond headed boy was completely incapable of loving. Love wasn't exactly the thing for which she was searching at the moment. She wasn't in love with him; love scared her far too much to go purposely pursuing. All she wanted was to be a little happier for a few short moments in time. That was more his style anyway; heavy on the heat, but light on any emotion of any depth. With a surface relationship, it was more difficult for something to reduce her to shambles and its shallow nature prevented everything below from being torn to shreds. That's always what happened when one got emotionally involved rather than just physically, experience had taught her too well. Trying to be as happy as possible wasn't worth the certain downfall that came with trying for anything more than necessary. And she was happy, perfectly content right where she was...or so she kept telling herself.

It was a meaningless fling between the two of them, but for now she was okay with it. She didn't know exactly what she found so alluring about the young man, but she could take a wild guess. Not only was he physically attractive, fit in all the right places thanks to the Quiddich playing past, but there was a mischievous spark in his blue eyes and a signature smirk upon his lips. Maybe it was a classic case of the forgotten girl falling for the rebellious bad boy. There was an air of danger surrounding him, which, for a girl like Pansy, seemed so intriguing. He was the most well known student of his house, whether it be in a positive or a negative way. He was the ringleader; people either loved him or hated him. Those whom hated him refused to say so openly and most of those who loved him only did so out of fear. He held an immense amount of power. And based on what she'd learned of psychology, power was one of the strongest pulls of a woman's attraction, no matter how backwards that seemed. He was wealthy, a change from her own life where she had to maintain the illusion that her family was just as prominent and well to do as the rest of her fellow Slytherins just to fit in. Sex, money, and power; it all seemed so wrong when she made the mistake of thinking about it. But no matter how many occasions she tried to tell herself to do better, she always failed to listen.

Pansy had not always looked as she did at the present. Her raven hair had not always been groomed into a short sassy bob; it had instead hung straggly over her shoulders. Her even alabaster skin had once been plagued with unattractive acne, until she had stumbled upon a clever removal spell. She had at one time been slightly overweight, not by a lot, but enough to be noticed by cruel preteens. Since then she had changed, but regardless there had always been one person to not speak a foul word about her, and because of the strange power he held, no one else did while in his presence. When she was feeling particularly down on herself, he'd assure her that he thought she was beautiful with whispers in her ear. She felt safe under his twisted but convenient protection. She had always wondered why he cared, considering it was not at all like him to do so, but she never dared ask. So what if it was all just an illusion of acceptance; an illusion was better than nothing at all.

It was a comfort thing between them; with the outbreak of war up in the air and looming heavy over their heads. Even though the two stood on the offensive's side, there was still no real sense of security to be felt by either. Draco was slowly rising to Voldemort's right-hand man, but along with that came increased uncertainty as to the length of his life. One small mistake on his part and Riddle's next _avada kedavra _could belong to him depending on the monster's mood at the moment. They were both scared, but neither was willing to admit it. But at least they had each other. Whenever it felt too burdensome, they'd push the thought aside and immerse their minds in a quick trip to the lake. They had their own place there, one they visited often enough to merit their names to be given to it. It was located right within a small grove of trees unknown to anyone else, almost as if a spell had been cast to hide it from anyone apart from the two of them. Whereas other students flocked to different parts of the same lake to enjoy the sights and sound of nature, the hours that could be spent fishing the muggle way, or for a quick dip in the Hogwarts' equivalent to a swimming pool, Draco and Pansy returned for recreation far different. It didn't matter whether it was the warmest days of early summer or the dead of winter, it was more the seclusion that appealed to them. That way no one except Pansy would ever know of how nimble Draco's fingers were in regards to uniform buttons or that his weak spot was that located right behind his ears. But, despite Malfoy's protest, that was usually the farthest Pansy would ever allow things to go before she would choose to postpone events for a more traditional venue. Everything save for the two of them in those moments was found completely vacant from her mind on such occasions. It didn't hold off horrid thoughts forever, but it was enough to get by.

That had been nearly a year ago. That was before the war had officially begun, before the attendance at Hogwarts had been cut in half, and before Draco had become even more distant than he had ever been before. He was always angry, tired, and broken down. If anyone spoke of a topic he wished not to discuss at a time he would have rather been alone, he would easily snap. If it was possible, he cared even less about those around him than he had before. Pansy, who had seemed to be his one weakness, he pushed aside on a daily basis. He would tell her nothing about his part in the war effort anymore. Whereas before he would confide in her every detail, now he only kept her in the dark. She had tried, as before, to push it aside and consider it nothing, make some kind of acceptable excuse in her mind for his actions, but it kept fighting its way out again.

She found herself in the Slytherin common room, perched between his legs, her back resting against his chest upon the lone couch in front of the fireplace. It was late spring, so it sat fireless, dark just like the rest of the room which was only lit by candlelight, it's placement underground prohibiting any natural light to be seen at any time of the day. It always had a slight damp feeling floating in the air and was never well lit, but on this occasion it appeared even more gloom-ridden than it was normally. The room was vacant of any other classmates, creating the dead silence that hung between the two as they sat speechless. "Draco..." Her voice bounced off the stone walls and hopefully to his ears. She could feel his arms draped around her in an inviting manner, but she couldn't help but feel as if it was an empty action, just as cold as the room around them. He spoke nothing, but the way she felt his cheek brush her hair, she knew he was listening. "What's going to happen to us when this is over?" Her words were hesitant and plagued with vulnerability. Things were going well between the two of them that day, unlike those previously; no voices had been raised, no insults thrown, just comfortable silence like at the present.

"I don't know..." His words were blunt on delivery, but not out of his biting bad attitude, but out of exhaustion, as if he had already scoured every possibly answer in his own thoughts and had come up short of a suitable answer. "I don't know if we're going to win…and even if we do…" He had taken her question as concern for the war tearing apart the wizarding world around them rather than probing for perhaps a small hint of honesty about the two of them; a hint of how much he cared, or if he even did at all anymore. She knew that there were more pressing issues about which to be concerned, but she couldn't help but wonder whether he would forget about her once their war was won and there was no longer anything about which to worry and no need for one person to act as a pleasant distraction for another. Would he push her aside once he could breathe easy again? She hoped with all she had that that was not all she ever would be.

She sat up a little straighter, no longer using his form as a support to hers. "No, that's not…" This was going to end terribly, she just knew it. "What about _us_?" Rephrased, she hoped that it would bring about her intended meaning, not his once again. When he didn't respond in a timely fashion, she shifted slightly, making the features of his face more easily in her line of vision. "When the war is over…are we over too?" At this point she didn't care if she came across as paranoid or even pathetic. Her mind wasn't going to rest until he gave her some kind of answer, be it good or bad.

"Why? Do you want us to be?" He answered with a large gaping yawn. He removed his arms from where they had rested around her, which alarmed her at first, but he instead stretched them out straight above his head and allowed them to return soon after.

She didn't know what exactly to say to that. Was it a subtle way of saying yes? And since when was Draco ever subtle? "No…do you?"

"No." He stated simply, leaving a chaste kiss upon his cheek before he moved as if he wanted to get up from the couch. "I'm going to bed."

She jumped up from his lap, concerned. First, assumed subtlety, then any action that could be described as 'chaste', and lastly retreating to his dorm before ten o'clock; it wasn't like him, not in the least bit. She had waited for his last comment to be followed with a request for her to pursue him down the wrong stairwell and right on to his four-poster bed, but when he instead wished her "goodnight" and headed towards those very stairs without looking back with a devilish grin on his lips, she knew that was not going to be in the least bit true on this occasion.

Each little thing that he did should have dug him an even deeper hole in regards to Pansy, but it only seemed to make her try even harder to win him back. Not that she needed to win him, she already had him. There were no other girls, no passing glances at others while he was with her, no wandering eyes…or hands. He was oddly devoted to her and only her, but, to Pansy, it didn't feel like it anymore. There was something standing in the way, and though she couldn't pinpoint it, she was about to try anything to get between the two of them.

It was his birthday a few weeks following; the big one-seven. She had spent about that long searching the corners of her mind for some clever idea of what she could do about it, yet she still hadn't conjured any idea acceptable. Everything that came to mind seemed not so out of the ordinary for them, not varying enough for the special occasion. But today was the day and she would have to make due.

That morning she had found herself in front of a mirror, the one farthest from the door in the Slytherin girl's common bathroom, and she had realized that she had been there for an abnormal amount of time, fixing her hair, though what little she could actually do with it, and touching up the features of her face with rouge and fine black pencil. And just before then she had spent a comparable amount of time in front of her closet deciding what non-uniform clothing to wear, finally deciding upon a simple flowered sundress. She felt sick just thinking about it; that had never before been the kind of girl she was. She never went out of her way to make herself up for someone; never made herself uncomfortable and unlike herself to seek approval from someone else, but for some reason she found it increasingly necessary.

Once what she saw reflected back at her was as good as it was going to get, she followed the twisting curve of the spiral staircase that led down to the dormitories of the male variety. She watched the eyes of those passersby as they continued past her to the common room above. Draco and herself weren't officially stated as "together". They hadn't made any motion to decide on a specific title to give themselves. It wasn't as if they overly flaunted their involvement with each other when they were in the presence of others, and rarely went out alone in public, or seen blatently _canoodling _by others, mostly by the request of Malfoy himself. Though it worked ineffectually, the attempts to be sneaky about it was entertaining for the two of them. Everyone knew, but no one else acknowledged it to either of them. It was just generally accepted as law. Though with every look that was tossed her way as she ascended, let her know exactly what they assumed her motivation was for heading down the wrong set of steps. Her face turned a vague shade of scarlet when it came to her realization. That wasn't the case at all, in fact on most occurrences when she ventured down to his room, her reasoning was for a few bases short of that.

When she reached his door, she tapped it slightly as a courtesy before opening it, but she heard no response. She pushed it open cautiously, half expecting to see him sleeping after he failed to answer, but his room was empty, not even his roommate in sight. He could have been out for birthday gallivanting with Crabbe and Goyle, but she had just passed them on the stairs and Draco had been absent at their sides. She stepped further inside, noticing the emerald drapes of his four poster pushed aside and something lying on the foot of his bed; a piece of paper with some kind of short note scribbled across it in his usual chicken scratch. The end of his mattress dipped, despite her light weight, as she sat upon it, her eyes fixated upon his words, not her surroundings.

_Pansy, _

_Sorry, something came up. I can't talk about it, but I promise, I'll make up for it._

_Love, Draco_

She should have been used to it by now. It's not like it had been the first time it had happened, although her plans that had been ruined before hadn't been as important as she had today. She knew that it had to have been some kind of stupid mission that had been placed upon him. She knew that he hadn't voluntarily ditched her. It was more or less out of his hands when it had anything to do with the Dark Lord. She had to forgive him for it, and he had promised that they'd celebrate a different day. Sure, he was a Malfoy, his promises, like his fathers, meant little to a large amount of people, but it was different with her. If he kept any that he tossed out freely, they were those he gave to her. She just wondered how long it would take for him to collect.

She lied back against the bed, her feet dangling off the end; she had nowhere else to go, nothing better to do. She'd cancelled everything else just for today. She wanted so badly to be angry with him, to be furious that once again he had he had passed on her plans last minute, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. She read his note again, her eyes lingering on his last words. He had signed it 'love' Draco. Was that one of those things that people did because they thought it was what was expected of them, or was it something else? Was Malfoy really one to do things because he thought it was the right or polite thing to do? Was she over analyzing things again? It was likely. The more she tried to be angry, the more she began to wonder whether this whole thing was still the meaningless fling that she had thought it to be. Maybe she felt something a little different, a little stronger for him and wanted more than anything for him to feel the same confused way about her. She hadn't entertained the thought because she knew that all he ever wanted was a good snog and a part time friend and as long as she held up the same mindset of which was dead set for Malfoy, no one would get hurt in the end. Maybe she had made the mistake of loving the boy she thought incapable of the emotion. And if that was the truth, she was in trouble.

She stared up at the ceiling, thoughts of past moments spent in that same spot coming back to mind; in his room, on his bed, his roommate conveniently gone. The first time she had visited had been following the Yule ball. They had abandoned the festivities early, slipped off their dancing shoes and, Draco, a few of his dress robe layers, but nothing happened then. Her pink frilly dress laid not in a crumpled pile on his floor, but perfectly fixed on her body as it had been in the Great Hall. Draco's jacket, his black bow tie, and the pink flower he actually allowed her to pin on his lapel to match her dress, however, all did find themselves abandoned on the rug beneath them, but nothing else. They were too young, too scared to go any further. Though she was welcomed with questions when a handful of fellow female Slytherins caught her sneaking back into her room at nearly two in the morning. But that was a rather quick and easy one to cover up. The rest got continually more difficult.

It wasn't until the later parts of her fifth year when she found herself, albeit rarely, borrowing his crisp white button-downs to sleep in and making the walk of shame up the stairwell in the morning wearing yesterday's clothes, her hair completely disheveled. Whenever she had retreated there to help him study, there were very few occasions that opening the books did not lead to falling back on to green sheets. As she laid there now, examining the detail of the ceiling tiles that hung above her, she remembered how often she had rested there staring up at the same view, though him still asleep at her side, and her left wondering whether what she had just done had been the right thing? She always decided on no, but forgave herself quickly for it and forgot to think twice before she did it the next time around. She couldn't explain her reasoning, but something, as wrong as it was, always felt so right about their little affairs.

She heard a knock at the door and promptly sprung up to a sitting position to investigate its cause. She watched as the heavy wooden door slowly swung open, but when the kid who caused it came into view, her hopeful smile fell. It wasn't Draco after all, but instead, his skinny permanently nervous looking roommate. In his meek, stuttering voice, he apologized for disturbing her…twice and retreated to his desk on the other side of the room. She forced herself up and on to her feet; there was no point in her sticking around any longer. She knew that he'd be gone for most of the day. Before slipping out the doorway, she abandoned his card and neatly wrapped gift on the same spot she had lied previously for him to open without her. She only hoped he was in one piece when he found himself back in his dormitory.

She worried about him constantly, despite how many times he had, annoyed, assured her that she had nothing to fret about, that he'd be okay. But she knew it was a comfort lie. She had seen him break down before. She had seen Draco Malfoy cry in the past, and there was just something wrong with knowing that. It wasn't supposed to happen. But because she knew it had, it told her just how terrible the things which he kept from here truly were. It would have taken an exceptionally heavy weight upon his shoulders to make him shed a tear in front of anyone. Before, the jobs he had been handed, as far as he had told her, had been more simple, just little tasks like smuggling property or fixing what only appeared to be old trinkets. Although they were very "dark trinkets", at least he wasn't battling anyone face to face. He wasn't in any immediate danger, unless of course he couldn't concoct a solution for one of Voldemort's requests and it especially angered him, but for some reason, Draco always came up with something. But she knew that, as time passed, his orders would only grow more dangerous, and as they did, he'd most likely stop telling her about them, keep her more in the dark than she already was. But in the case Riddle sent him off as his own disposable assassin, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to know about it.

The next morning began with a knock. She hadn't slept much the night before so she had found it impossible wake up and remain that way, but once she recognized the cause of the heavy wooden door swinging in towards her as a familiar blond-haired young man, she was suddenly fully alert. She was about to slip her feet out from underneath the sheets and on to the floor when he swept into the room, landing at her side. She found her back once again against her pillows as he bent down for a lingering kiss. His lips were soft as they laughed against hers and he smelled all clean and freshly showered, the front of his hair, still slightly damp, graced her forehead. He pulled away from her reluctantly. "I'm sorry…" He assured her, carefully moving above her to lie at her side. He propped himself up with his arms folded and resting beneath his head. "I meant it, you know…" He spoke softly, staring up at the ceiling.

"Yeah.." She spoke softly, curling on her side towards him. Her hand wandered from where it had laid flat and lifeless on her sheets across his chest. Her fingertips slipped between the buttons of his shirt, teasing his fair skin beneath it. She could sense the heat emanating from his core, melting her frozen fingertips. She found it ironic that the one person assumed to be so cold of heart by others always felt so warm to her. "So what did you have to do yesterday?" She inquired cheerfully, happy to finally be in his presence, in the presence of a fair-mooded Draco.

"Oh, not much…" He began without hesitation, his hand drawn to her hair as he moved towards her. "I just had do a little spying…follow around members of the Order…find out what's going on." His thumb brushed her cheek before he pressed another quick kiss against her lips. He appeared to be back, the Malfoy whom most would believe to be a mythical creature had she told anyone about him; the Draco who did normal things like normal people who happened to love another person. She couldn't help but to be taken aback by the promising change. "What do you have planned for today?" His low voice spoke softly, his words needed not to travel far to reach her ears.

"Well…we don't have to leave just yet…" She faded off, something in her tone made him sense she was trying to suggest something by it. He was sure of it when he caught a significantly different glint in her eyes; bright mischievous green eyes, one accented by a raised perfectly arched black brow. She couldn't have been more content with the thought of lacking a roommate because her house was primarily male in gender than she was then. He closed the space that skill remained between their forms, his arms looped around her narrow waist, her lips floating just above his in a teasing manner. She'd lower her smirk towards his pillow, only to pull away just before he could rise to meet them. He fought back and she surrendered gently biting his bottom lip as he moved away from her.

Her fingers grasped the striped silk of his tie, luring him back towards her, before she quickly untied it and tossed it aside, moving next to the row of shiny white buttons tailing down his torso as those of her pajamas met the same fate at his hand. She pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and followed its decent down his arms with her fingers. Her movements were slow, paying attention to every little detail, every curvature in the tone of his upper arms. Draco was too preoccupied to notice; his lips melted into hers and his fingers explored the small of her back. As her hands, with his shirt in tow, edged on the bend of his elbow he made a quick motion in opposition. He pushed himself away from her, but her lips caught him. Her knees had fallen at either side of his legs and he could feel her breath upon his neck as her lips graced the skin beneath his ear. By then, he had forgotten to fight back. She relieved his form of the cumbersome piece of clothing, it falling from his arms and landing upon the floor once she tossed it aside, forgotten as well. Her fingers clung to his arms as his hands rose to tangle in her hair…and that's when she saw it.

Out of the corner of her eye she took notice of a shadow upon his left arm. She found it abnormal, as after the last few months or so she had considered herself rather acquainted with a majority of his features, and this was something she would have noticed before then. "Wait…what?…" She questioned, reaching for his arm. He protested, trying to snatch it from her grasp, but he failed. Frantically, she grabbed the limb with both hands and forced its underside exposed. "Is this…is it…" That's when she saw it, free of speculation; the truth with her own eyes. A dark black skull and serpent emblazoned on the fair skin of his forearm; she inspected it wide-eyed. Her fingertips brushed his skin trembling slightly, dancing around the blunt black lines, not daring to touch the emblem itself for some fear that she would accidentally summon the Dark Lord upon them.

"The dark mark?" She looked up to him with watery eyes, still clinging to the vandalized limb. "This…this isn't real…." A nervous laugh escaped from her as she hoped that it was just some kind of joke, albeit a terribly cruel one, but a hoax none the less. Her eyes pleaded with his to just hear that it wasn't the truth, but all she saw when she searched his screamed the opposite. "So you're one of them now…you're a death eater…officially?"

"Well…yes, but…." He tried to throw some words of explanation her way, but she wouldn't allow it.

"Do you know what you just did? Do you have any clue?"

"Do _you _know what an honor it is…how many people get recommendation from the Dark Lord himself? He chose _me_…" He spoke quickly giving her no room to interrupt. His eyes were a fire as they bore into hers, hoping that she would understand its apparent importance.

"You're just a kid…he chose a kid…"

"No I'm not…I'm seventeen!" It was hard to believe. Yes, they were both of legal age in their society, but she, at least, felt not at all prepared for all that lied outside of Hogwarts' confines. She hadn't yet finished her schooling, had not graduated, had not learned everything that she believed one needed to know to keep up with the Dark Lord. Sure, Draco was a better wizard than she was a witch, but she knew he couldn't handle what was coming to him. He lacked experience, real world experience. He could barely fix an ancient cabinet in due time for Merlin's sake.

"As of yesterday! And you might as well be seen as a child….so foolish!" Her volume had swelled to a level that was without a doubt audible to anyone in the rooms adjacent to hers. "Do you really know what you've just done?"

"Accepted an opportunity to serve our Lord…" He began with wide eyes, as if it was a fact so simple that anyone should have known it and believed it just as strongly as he did.

"No! You've just signed your life away…to be….to be some disposable object to be used for terrible…dangerous….and downright evil things!" She couldn't believe how…brainwashed he seemed to be, spouting out words which she knew to be regurgitations of what his father had instilled in Draco since he was just young.

"But it's an honor that--"

"Honor? You think it and honor to be sent to die…you do know that he doesn't care that happens to you? He'll just find someone else to take your place--"

He couldn't hear anymore of it. Out of desperation, he stole a quick kiss hoping it would work as effectively as it always did with him. But quick was all it was. His face was met with a sharp movement from her hand, a red mark left in its wake that burnt nearly as much as his arm could at any given moment. Draco recoiled, backing away from her quickly as if she was to explode any moment.

Though Draco had imagined flaming words from her mouth, she remained silent. She was out of words; she had plenty of thoughts she would have liked so say, but they were those which she simply could not find herself capable to form into coherent words and sentences. All she had was emotions; mangled and messy, a mix of anger and fear, disappointment and disbelief. He had promised. When he first got involved, he swore that he wouldn't take it that far, that he wouldn't turn into his father. It was the one thing that gave her a little hope. She could handle him lending a little insignificant hand every once in a while as long as she knew that he had no intent to take the final step and become one of them. She had promised him that he wouldn't get carried away, that the lure of power wouldn't lure him in too. She knew that he wasn't good at keeping promises, but she had been so certain that the ones he gave to her were the real ones, that those were the one that actually meant something. She thought that she meant enough to him to make that so, but apparently she was wrong, delusional to think that she could be special in some way.

She didn't like to shed tears, especially in the company of others, yet she found her cheeks damp with them. He reached his arm up, not bothering to hide his dark branding, and wiped them away with a brush of his thumb. She didn't pull away, however, her mind was running too fast to be responsive to anything else.

Once she regained her lapsed senses, she swatted him away and hastily attempted to fasten closed the buttons of her shirt. She tried to hide her frustration at how much she failed the more she tried. Her hands were too unsteady from crying. She got half way through and she gave up. "What's your next mission? Torturing some muggles…" She spat furiously, her voice feeling venomous to anyone it could reach. "Then off for some guiltless murder?" Her face was void of emotion as if an overload earlier had short circuited her ability to show how she was feeling. The sight worried him more than had he known what thoughts were running through her mind. "Or have you already done that?"

She glared at Malfoy awaiting for him to shake his head in denial, or any sign that showed a definite 'no', but instead, his face melted into a shocked and worried expression. His eyes quickly shifted their focus away from her as if it was a fool-proof way to protect himself from her otherwise reading his mind.

Her eyes widened as if someone somewhere had whispered _engorgio _under their breath_. _"No…tell me you haven't…no…" Her head shook feverishly as her words stumbled on their way out.

"Well….no, not really…no, I haven't…"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She scoured her mind trying to think of a specific time that he had been especially secretive. It could have been any day as of late, but one came to mind. "What happened up in the Astronomy tower?"

"What are you talking about?" He quickly replied, defensively. His guilty conscience knew exactly what incident she was referencing. He had left so many details out of the version he had told her, mainly because he didn't want to put any unnecessary burden upon her; he didn't want to make her worry. But even more so, he knew how she would react. She would judge him as a terrible person. She had always made for a terrible Slytherin. She always liked the Slytherin spirit in theory, but as soon as it was to be put to use, she ran away scared.

"I know you had something to do with it. I know you let them in, but there was more…wasn't there?" Her mind flashed back to all the strange occurrences that had been breaking news just a year earlier. The mysterious necklace that had nearly killed Katie Bell with touch through a glove, the poisoned mead that had slipped into Ron's hands mistakenly…had those been the "trinkets" Voldemort had handed over to Draco to "fix"? They had all been sloppy attempts to rid Hogwarts of its headmaster?

"But Snape killed Dumbledore…he didn't let--" He abruptly stopped speaking the moment he knew he had said too much. He had been surprised someone hadn't let it slip to her sooner, granted the only people who knew the real story were a handful of death eaters and the Potter kid, and the people with whom Pansy associated did not my any means associate with the Golden Child. It was the fact that it had been Snape's lips that uttered the killing curse that spread like wildfire, the rest left unquestioned.

"You were going to but he wouldn't let you?" How was that supposed to make it any better? "And you nearly killed two other people in the process…two innocent people!"

His hand floated, as if charmed, towards her face. Black strands of hair had since fallen in her eyes, stuck to her cheeks with moisture, and his fingers reached out to return them home resting nicely behind her ear, but as he did, she slapped his hand away every time he tried. "Don't touch me…" Her words were cold and flat, how Malfoy commonly came off to people other than herself. "You're a murderer…"

"No I'm not!" He protested.

"Well you might as well be…you've still got blood on your hands." It made no difference to her whether he had or had not been the one who sent killing curse. He would have had Snape not done it before he worked up the nerve. How could she trust him anymore? How could she believe anything said by someone who would kill a man just because he was told, someone who would sign his life away because he thought that the dark side was the right side. She had seen hope in Draco. She didn't think of him as just another Malfoy, she didn't see him as turning out just as his father did, in Azkaban for getting caught doing the dark "Lord's" bidding. It all was a mask he wore to make people happy, to please his family, to feel like he had an ounce of respect attached to his name. It was something in which he had to show some interest for fear of being an only son disowned. She thought there was some light in him, sure it had only been her eyes that had seen such a thing, but seeing was believing…wasn't it?

"Get out of my room!" She demanded, trying her best to push him away. She jumped off the edge of her bed, snatched his shirt from its crumpled pile on the floor and shoved it against his bare chest.

He scurried to dress himself and moved toward the door as she forcefully followed him across the room. She whipped the door open and pushed him out, not allowing another of his tainted words to meet her ears before she shut the door in his face. Alone now, she could feel at ease breaking down. She had no strength to wander back to her bed and burrow in her covers for some undetermined length of time as much as she wanted to at that moment. Instead she leaned her weight against the back of her door, though her legs quickly gave out beneath her, her back sliding down the length of the solid wood until she reached the floor. Her body was compelled to fold in on itself, no longer strong enough to hold itself up right. Her stomach felt as if it had been met with the swift movement of someone's hardy old boot. Her throat was so parched she couldn't breathe, the feeling of a dry swallowed pill stuck in her chest.

Did the Draco Malfoy with whom she allowed herself to fall even exist? Was he just a figment of her imagination, all of the characteristics she wished he had projected on to her vision of him. Had the hours they'd both spent talking about their futures been complete lies from his side; his beautiful, bloodless ambitions, had they been absolute crap? Had there been too much Amortentia in her water for the last three years? Had she been too blindsided by his marvelous highpoints to notice his negatives, all of them?

She had felt so much promise in him. Sure he wasn't perfect, she didn't want him to be. She just thought that maybe, somehow, she could be the one to change him, to fix him. She was crazy enough to think that she could convert cold and calculated into a real human being, the one whom only she was capable of seeing. If she loved him, then maybe…just maybe, he'd learn how to love in return. Perhaps at one point Draco had been true to how she saw him, but the man she fell in love with wasn't that person anymore. She was in love with a ghost of a human being. She couldn't help but hope that with the end of the war would come the resurrection of the boy she had once known and loved. But before she could hope for some kind of change, the end had to come…and he had to still be there when came that time.

It had taken her one argument to change seventeen years of believing that the dark side right and honorable. Never before had it threatened anyone remotely close to her. Her parents weren't yet death eaters like most of her fellow housemates' parents, mostly because her mother would have killed her father for doing so. She had heard it said that the only thing influential enough to dissuade one from the power that came to a person once they pledged their allegiance to the Dark Lord was the ability to love. It had kept her away, not wanting to put her family at risk for something that she, alone, had chose for herself. She loved Draco, so she had come to notice, but apparently the love of power had been stronger than anything he felt for her. What was standing between them was far more complicated than had it been another girl; she could have won had it been that simple. But this wasn't simple anymore, she didn't stand a fighting chance and she would be a fool to even try. All she had left was the chance that Voldemort and the death eaters would lose and not take too many of their side down in the process. Sure, some may have called her a traitor for thinking such a thing, but she knew that Draco's only hope was for the downfall of Lord Voldemort to make the scar upon his arm nothing more than a memory.


End file.
